


Rebecca Blithely's Strange Empire

by TopherKapn



Category: Strange Empire (TV)
Genre: Canon Non-Binary Character, F/F, NaNoWriMo, Nonbinary Character, Other, tw: rape mention
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-02
Updated: 2017-11-02
Packaged: 2019-01-28 09:09:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12603176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TopherKapn/pseuds/TopherKapn
Summary: This is my NaNoWriMo, so it'll evolve as the month goes on. Basic idea is that because Morgan Finn and I have some trauma in common, I'm going to write about them dealing with that as a way to process what happened to me once upon a time. Also I want to turn this into a steampunk western, so Rebecca and/or Morgan are going to build some cool shit eventually.





	Rebecca Blithely's Strange Empire

Oh Emily, please tell me. How is one supposed to live in a world such as this? How is one supposed to live in a world where things such as this happen?

Morgan Finn speaks of leaving, of moving on farther west. Of continuing on, as was their plan from the beginning. Though originally they were going in the company of their uncle Pike, and now when they speak of leaving, it is of leaving here utterly alone.

Whenever others assume my own departure, it is an assumption that I will leave and go east, go back to Toronto now that father has died. I could go back there, go back where the horrors are less than they are here. But are they truly?

And ultimately, what I said to father was true Emily, in Toronto I would indeed be a spinster and a freak. When Dr. Blithely and yourself were alive I was the woman of genius, and there were numbers and processes to prove such. I cannot however measure these things on my own with any objectivity nor any practicality, and after all, I did not particularly enjoy being shown like a toy at father’s scientific gatherings. I went because I enjoyed listening to the debates my papers inevitably roused among the scientific community. Don’t tell father though, I had promised him to detach myself from those works whenever attending in order to avoid any embarrassment for those involved.

I wished before to go farther west myself of course, all the way to China. Mr. Ling however tells me that even there people would look upon me, see this random lottery of appendages bestowed upon me, and conclude that I am a woman, and as such, naturally inferior in intellect and reasoning. He called me doctor, and told me that the world would come to me if I remained here.

So here I stay, sole doctor of this place we call Janestown. They need me here. And, I believe, it would be accurate to say that I need them too. Here my potential for all things is much expanded. And here, my potential to learn and grow is limited only by my own choices. There are of course, fewer books here, than we had in Toronto, Emily. There are no libraries, and there are no churches as of yet, I know how you did always express a wish that I learn the ways of your faith. There is spirituality, there is morality, but like the law, here these things are what we make of them. And Emily, I’m here to tell you this world, this lawless land that we have determined to build our community in, is a place of great potential. And it is a place where the sparks of a new civilization have begun. And Emily, my dearest Emily, this has been a place of endings. But through those endings, also a place of beginnings. It is a place where much can grow and change, for good and for ill. It is a place where I have discovered much and will continue to discover.

Emily, I must leave you now, for as I think of the many directions in which I could grow, my mind is inevitably drawn back to one Morgan Finn. If John Slotter is understood as the cautionary tale for what unchecked dark energies can morph to in this lawless place, then Morgan Finn is one who sees the right and the wrong in a way that may give guidance to a conscience and lead towards what is good.

Rebecca put down her pen and stared at the page for a moment, then stared out the window contemplatively.

I will go to Morgan. I seek to give what comfort I can, though I do not often do well with words. Rebecca thought to herself, or to Emily. After all, a dead mother can only read a letter in spirit, perhaps thoughts would speak more directly to a spirit.

Morgan is a creature unlike any other, much as myself.” Rebecca imagined herself telling Emily as she rose from her table, grabbed her hat and jacket, and left the crib. “And Emily, just as you saw me in that horrible place and saw /me/, not the caged monster that they would have me be, so too does Morgan Finn see me I believe, or I hope. I do not know, how well they know, in what regard I hold them. I think these thoughts to you Emily, in lieu of write them on paper as I am wont to do. For paper may run out, and then what should I do?

“Perhaps I should make my own paper mill. Perhaps I should make my own – Well, many of the things we had in Toronto are not here, but many of the things we can build fresh and new.”

The mine had been up and running again so swiftly following the event of John Slotter’s death. Under the uneasy shared management of Isabelle, Ling, and Cornelius profits were sought like the cold iron fist of revenge had been sought by the women for so long. Many of the men had moved along, but those that remained, and the new ones who found their way to camp every day were all given work. Morgan had been among the first to return, hat down, pick in hand, though Rebecca knew they had dreamed more of life as a cowboy than of life in a mine. “Work is work,” they’d once said to Rebecca when she asked about this change in plans. “A body needs food, so a body needs work. Don’t much matter what kind sometimes.”

Rebecca worried however as Morgan’s work hours grew to unhealthy levels. Morgan did not call upon Rebecca, and though the social niceties of courting had of course been drilled into Rebecca’s head years past by Emily, she had never quite understood why one must follow such rules, what purpose they served. It took less than a week before Rebecca began actively seeking Morgan out herself. Now it had been a week of walking across camp to Morgan’s tent each afternoon at quitting time only to find Morgan was still in the mines working overtime.

It was therefore with very little real hope that Rebecca approached Morgan’s tent this Thursday afternoon.

“Morgan Finn?” Rebecca announced herself, almost ready to turn on heel and walk back across camp as she had every other day this week, and half of the week prior. This time however, she found she was in luck as her announcement provoked a rustling in the tent, and then Morgan’s face shone through. Dustier than ever, as if the dirt beard had spread across Morgan’s entire body. Eyes sunken and ringed by bags, and curiously blank as it took a moment for them to focus on Rebecca.

“Mx. Finn, I call on you today to… oh, but you do look horrible,” Rebecca said, switching into doctor mode as she took in Morgan’s disheveled state.

Morgan scowled, “Oh, it’s you,” seemed to be all they could muster.

“You do look atrocious, what ails you? I do feel as a doctor it is my duty to come to your assistance,” Rebecca offered, trying to be helpful.

“Atrocious. Yet again, my form does not live up to what the high lady Ms. Blithely expects of a suitor.” Morgan spat.

Paying no mind, Rebecca had knelt down next to Morgan to see their eyes more closely. “Your form concerns me Morgan, you seem unwell.”

Morgan laughed a laugh that began to border the hysterical. “Unwell is a word some of the kinder ones have applied to it, that much is true,” they remarked after a moment.

Rebecca reached out to hold Morgan’s face still for a moment so she could examine the red eyes surrounded by puffy discolored skin more closely. Morgan flinched, but did not pull away. They made eye contact with Rebecca for the first time in weeks, and felt an embarrassing tide of emotion crash over them.

“I feared pink eye at the least, but seen more closely it appears you simply have not been getting enough rest Mx. Finn,” Rebecca said without removing her hands or her eyes from Morgan’s face.

Morgan looked away, knowing that if they did not, the tears would overwhelm them. And tears were dangerous, as Morgan had learned long ago in Ogallala before they’d had the help and guidance of Uncle Pike to rely upon. “I have to go,” Morgan said through gritted teeth and turned back to the threadbare safety and privacy of their canvas tent.

“Morgan!” Rebecca entreated, and Morgan hesitated for a moment, but it was not safe. Their body propelled them into the tent with very little input from the mind. “Go away,” they forced out, though there was nobody they wanted by their side so much as Rebecca Blithely right now in this moment, as in each and every moment that had preceded this.

Perplexed and hurt, Rebecca stared at a canvas flap where Morgan’s face had been moments before. “Morgan,” they attempted again, “can I come in?”

“It’s not proper,” was the choked reply that filtered through the canvas and the stranglehold Morgan was trying to impose upon their own emotions.

“A proper life is not for one such as me,” Rebecca replied, stooping down to let herself into the tent. “Please, pardon the intrusion,” she continued, “I will leave if that is truly what you desire, but it seems to me that you are holding to constructs of a society that we have left behind.”

“Oh, just get over here then, Becca” Morgan hiccupped quietly. Rebecca promptly let the flap fall closed behind her as she made the three steps to Morgan’s bedroll. They had been lying in the fetal position, but sat up as the stooped figure of Rebecca approached. Rebecca sat next to them on the bedroll, and those solemn concerned eyes found hers. Her smooth, skilled hands moved cautiously to their face and traced the damp evidence of the tears that had spilled despite their best intentions.

“They don’t think that I cry either, but I do you know,” Rebecca said quietly, still looking Morgan Finn straight in the eyes. It felt like daggers, that stare, and Morgan couldn’t hold any of it in any longer. The tears flowed thick and fast, and the sobs accompanied a certain amount of gasping as Morgan tried to remain quiet and not draw attention.

Rebecca was unsure what to do, as she often was in unfamiliar social situations, but knowing that a hand on a shoulder seemed to indicate comfort to many, she tentatively reached out and placed her hand on Morgan’s shoulder. They grabbed that hand, and then turned to Rebecca and threw their arms about her. She patted their back as they quietly sobbed, and began to sing a lullaby Emily had once taught her. She was unprepared and not socially equipped to handle this outburst, but logically recognized how unsurprising it was. The thunder storm that had been lurking all week began to pelt the tent with rain. Just as rain falls from the skies, so too do tears fall from the eyes.

“I’m here, Morgan Finn, Rebecca’s here,” was all she could say.

That was the first night they shared a bed, Rebecca holding Morgan in her arms until they both slowly drifted off to the rest they both needed so desperately.

**Author's Note:**

> I made the choice to use they/them pronouns with Morgan because I personally use they/them pronouns and representation's nice. Also I read an interview with Joanne Boland (actor that plays Morgan), and Joanne uses they/them pronouns for Morgan, so it makes sense to me. I fully support anyone who chooses to use he/him pronouns for Morgan too though, especially any trans guys out there looking for someone to identify with. 
> 
> If I royally screw up something let me know, but unless it's a particularly harmful kind of screwup I won't be fixing it until December cuz NaNoWriMo.


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